Thirteen #2
“The pleasure of kissing is reason in itself.”
“In real life, maybe. But without motivation, the characters will ring hollow,” I reply.
She frowns. “Might help if you took my advice and left the house once in a while.”
“For your information, I tried that.” My claim is less effective considering I’m dressed in a mismatched lounge set and there are no less than six half-finished beverages of varying alcohol and caffeine content on the coffee table.
Kim must interpret this evidence of my writing binge incorrectly—in her defense, wallowing and deadline mode look very similar—because
she gives me a pitying look that I’m sure is meant to appear empathetic. “Did you get ghosted? Or go on an awful date?”
The image of Gavin, sleeves cuffed, grinning at me across a candlelit table, beckons, but I slam the memory shut. I won’t
be able to prove I’ve been following her advice without mentioning him, and I won’t be able to mention him without her jumping
to conclusions. Conclusions I’ve been trying not to jump to myself after what happened between us at the mall. The tender
way he touched me, eyes full of longing...
“I absolutely cannot focus on a relationship right now.” I grab two of the water glasses off the table and water the gardenia
with one, then pour the other into Frank’s pot. The monstera’s uppermost leaves are taller than I am. Poor thing has witnessed
me try and fail at keeping many of his plant brethren alive over the years before I gave up and realized Frank is special,
immune to my utter lack of a green thumb. Secretly, I think it’s because Gavin raised him to start, but I’m not about to tell
him because it would go straight to his head.
“Why do you make relationships sound so stressful?” my sister asks.
For me, they have been, but it’s not just that. “I have a book to finish and a lot of people counting on me.” I can’t help
but picture the cast and crew I’ve met while visiting the set. I want to live up to their faith in me. “But I did try some
new things. Got out of my comfort zone, and it’s working.” To a point.
“So I was half right?” Kim will take that win and run with it.
“Half wrong.” I gesture at the in-progress scene on my laptop. “I need more than just interest and attraction.”
“True. But for years you’ve been saying there’s no way to invent chemistry between these two.” She gives up on sitting normally and reclines on the bolster. “Sounds like a good start at least.”
“But according to my schedule, I’m supposed to be nearly done with the first draft, and I’ve barely made it into act two,”
I say. “Last week, I found out my deadline is firm because Rob’s filming some blockbuster movie next summer, and even though
the characters are finally starting to feel each other, I’m worried I can’t make them fall in love.”
Confessing this erases all the good vibes of my momentum, or maybe my rising sense of overwhelm is a side effect of sitting
in the same spot all day. Either way, I sink down onto the living room rug and let gravity take hold until I’m flat on my
back, staring at the ceiling.
Kim’s face appears, blocking out the skylight. “Now might be a good time to mention I brought cake?”
The knot in my chest eases a notch. “Wouldn’t hurt.”
She disappears from view. “Okay, but you’re gonna have to get up off the floor. No feeding the ants on my watch.”
“I do not have ants.”
“Not yet,” she says, singsong.
I stay put for another ten seconds out of an urge to prove my independence, realize that’s the definition of childish , and am taking out silverware by the time my sister’s washed her hands.
I grab two plates and a serving knife, which she takes from me, cutting two huge slices from the Bundt cake. “Have you eaten?”
she asks.
“I’m about to.” I use my fork to carve off a bite.
“Fruit. Vegetables. Protein?”
“Bar,” I reply around a mouthful of delectable cake.
She slides my plate out of reach. “I brought real food, too, let’s start there.”
“Dessert first,” I argue, and she gives up, mostly because my slice of cake has already been reduced to crumbs.
“Tell me what the cool single people are doing these days.” Since Kim hasn’t been single since college, she always says she
feels out of the loop. “Did you sign up for one of those groups where you go on excursions?”
That’s what she would do in my position. She was president of at least half a dozen clubs during high school and college,
and head of countless committees at the schools where she taught. She’s been training for a leadership role since middle school,
and I bet she won’t stay assistant principal for long.
“Nothing that fancy.” Hoping to distract her, I root around in the bags and pull out a bunch of carrots with the greens attached,
like she bought them at a farmers market, which is probably the case.
She starts taking spices out of my cupboard, most of which are probably expired. “Got a big pot?”
I squat down and pull out the Dutch oven I bought last year on impulse. Gavin and I had been trying to one-up each other with
elaborate descriptions of eye colors like in romance novels, one of my favorite elements of the genre. He’d pointed at the
pot and asked me to describe it. The shade of waves darkened by an oncoming storm , I’d quipped, but the color appealed to me, and I wound up buying it.
I’ve only used the pot a handful of times, and it isn’t until I set it on the stove that I realize the slate-blue glaze is
a near-perfect match for Gavin’s eyes. Great, I’ve officially lost my head over him and we haven’t even kissed. Won’t kiss. I click on the burner with unsteady hands.
Oblivious to my worries, Kim says, “There’s a pottery studio near our new house that offers classes, and I was thinking of
going.” She sets a cutting board on the wide marble island. “You could join me if you’re tired of doing excursions on your
own.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I’m not doing it on my own.” Too late, I catch on to her tactic. But before she can ask who I’ve been going out with, my phone vibrates.
Grateful for the intrusion, I waste no time in picking it up, expecting yet another text from Sera’s family about the baby
shower we’re throwing—they’ve totally hijacked the planning but it’s probably for the best with how much of the book I’ve
yet to finish—but instead of a question about table linens, I see two new texts from Gavin.
Gavin: I’ve got the perfect way to test fish-out-of-water.
Gavin: You, me, and a landscaping crew.
Biting back a smile, I tap out a response.
Mia: Sounds more like the title of a why-choose romance.
Gavin: That wasn’t on the trope list. Should I look it up?
Mia: We both know you’re going to anyway.
“Thought you didn’t have time for dating.” Kim looks up from chopping an onion. “That’s the goofy grin that comes from reading
a crush’s text.”
“I am not crushing.” Another buzz from my phone, and I bite my lip at the GIF Gavin’s sent of a guy looking shell-shocked.
Gavin: Definitely not what I had in mind. I convinced a bunch of coworkers to join me for the annual community restoration project.
We’re cleaning up a lot on Fifth Street this Friday and Saturday. Wanna join?
He sends a screenshot of the Annual Community Give-Back Weekend website.
My sister pulls the phone from my hands and frowns at the texts. “Just Gavin?” She shakes her head and mumbles, “I thought
you were actually putting yourself out there...” She trails off, scrolling up through the messages, and a nefarious gleam
lights her eyes. “He’s the one you’ve been going out with, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but it’s not like that.”
She lets out a whoop and starts dancing.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“You—” she amps up the moves that make it clear she hasn’t set foot in a club in ten years “—need to tell me everything.”
That’s asking a lot. I’m not even sure what we’ve gotten ourselves into. “Best I can do is the broad strokes.”
“Mia.” She draws out my name like when we were kids and she was trying to get me to do something scary, like the ropes course
at summer camp, and I can’t hold back a smile.
“It’s a long story. Don’t you have unpacking to get back to?”
Her grin is the opposite of reassuring. “Painters are at the house, and I brought the fixings for braised beef ragu. I’ve
got all day.”
This wasn’t a drop-in visit. It was a planned invasion, and I fell for it. But maybe it will be good to get her perspective
on our wild scheme.
Three hours later we sit down to eat. My contribution to the meal was setting the table and putting the zinnias Kim brought
into an oversize coffee mug I got at a friend’s book launch party that says, NOT ALL HEROES WEAR CAPES. MINE WEAR KILTS.
Kim, on the other hand, transformed a garden’s worth of produce and an honest-to-goodness butcher-paper-wrapped cut of meat into the delicious sauce she’s ladling over pappardelle noodles. “Since when do writers method act?”
I break off a piece of the crusty bread she brought, warm from the oven. “It’s just to get out of my routine.” I explained
the trope tests as briefly as possible, and after dodging a few nosy questions, managed to distract her by asking about her
new job and sitting through a few episodes of her favorite reality show that I usually refuse to watch.
But I should’ve known she wouldn’t leave the topic alone. “Why Gavin?”
That’s the angle she’s stuck on. “We trust each other. And I don’t have to worry about navigating dates with strangers.”
She settles back, twirling noodles on her fork. “And he doesn’t mind joining you in these experiments?”
“He suggested it.”
“Is he single?”
“Of course.” The rapid-fire questions are making me defensive. “I’d never do this with him if he...”
She raises her brows in a gotcha expression, but I shake my head.
“It’s not like that.” Except now I’m thinking of how close we came to kissing. Twice.
“It’s kind of like that,” she says, as if she can read my mind.
I spear a piece of meat with my fork, not wanting to admit she’s right. “Kim, I’m telling you. There’s nothing going on between
me and Gavin. This is me doing something out of character for the sake of my inspiration. Nothing more.”
Her expression turns thoughtful. “What do you plan to wear this weekend?”
The question catches me off guard. “Hadn’t thought about it. Whatever people wear to do yard work, I guess.”
“Aka, nothing in your closet.”
Jeans are my mortal enemy, and my only pair of sneakers is white. “I’ll figure something out.”
She shakes her head. “Hurry and eat. It’s makeover time.”
My sister passes a pair of jeans through the cracked door of the fitting room. Reluctantly, I take them. “Any of these would
work.” Nonetheless, I yank on yet another pair of pants, hoping that we’ll hit on one that doesn’t make me feel like I’ve
gone cold turkey on comfort.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and wow, maybe there’s something to be said for denim and strategically placed pockets.
I open the door and strike a dramatic pose.
“How do you feel?” Kim asks.
I tamp down a smile. Never thought I’d feel this bubbly while trying on jeans and cargo pants. Almost like I’m getting ready
for a date. “Like I’m ready to show some rosebushes who’s boss.”
“Think they’ll trust you with pruning shears?”
I rub my hands together. “A girl can try.”
She spins her finger and reluctantly I turn in a circle. Okay, these do accentuate the curves of my butt and thighs, but the
point is not to look cute. I’m only doing this to fit in.
“You need a hat,” Kim says.
I shut the door before she can voice any more opinions. “I look terrible in hats.”
“You look adorable in them.” Her voice carries through the angled slats of the door, and I’m sure everyone in the fitting
room can hear us. “Remember those Easter bonnets Mom used to make us wear?”
“I try not to,” I reply, and she laughs. “Also, kid in church is not the look I’m going for.” Too late, I realize my mistake.
“In the sense that no grown woman wants to be infantilized.” I pull open the door again, dressed in my own clothes. “Not because
this is a date.”
She steps inside and helps sort the pile of discarded clothes. “Sure is a lot of hoops to jump through when you could just admit you like the guy.”
“Of course I like Gavin.” Shaking out a pair of jeans, I fold them neatly. “I love him.”
I catch sight of Kim’s wide eyes in the trio of lighted mirrors, but shake my head, forestalling her reaction. “I love him
as a friend. He’s one of the most important people in my life and falling for him wouldn’t just be messy. It would be a huge
mistake.”
“Why?”
Sometimes my sister’s cluelessness about how things shook down with Ted baffles me. He went from being a good friend to someone
I had to keep at arm’s length so things wouldn’t be weird between me and my sister. But I’m complicit in her lack of awareness
since I downplayed things, and now it’s far too late to bring up.
“I’m not denying I haven’t ever thought about it.” Obviously Gavin is hot, I’m not blind. I’m also smart enough to know that
my attraction for him would probably equal good chemistry. “But it’s not the dating that would be the problem. It’s that when
it inevitably ended, we couldn’t go back to what we have.”
“Who says it would end?” Kim’s always had a rosy view of love, like everything will work out how it’s supposed to. For her,
it has. Our parents haven’t given up on love, either. Dad is on his second marriage, and our mom recently started dating again
after her four-year relationship ended. But I’m not comfortable with the margin of error. Life isn’t a romance novel, and
I’m not willing to gamble Gavin if happy-ever-after isn’t guaranteed.
“What Gavin and I have is special. I’m not risking him over a fling.”
“You’ve been afraid to go for things ever since we were kids,” she says. “You didn’t quit your accounting job until your first
book hit the bestseller list, and even then, you gave two weeks’ notice.”
“That’s called being conscientious, not cowardly.” I was brave enough to tell Ted how I felt about him. Brave enough to tell Stewart we didn’t want the same things. Brave enough to keep dating until recently, even though it’s always ended in failure.
“I just hate to see you settle for being content instead of going after something better.”
“Why would I, when what I have is enough?”
“Is it?” Kim searches my face, like she’s looking for a sign that I’m truly happy before she’ll let it go.
A simple question, and a few weeks ago I would’ve said yes. That was before I let myself imagine more. You’re not the only one that wants this. But are either of us brave enough to make the move?